High Noon | Page 3

In the group of Paul's late companions stood the American girl who had
sat facing him all the way from Paris. He was no sooner out of earshot
than--
"Did you see, Mamma?" she whispered to the matron beside her.
"See what, Daisy?"
"That French creature--she tried to talk to my big Englishman, but he
snubbed her. What a fine chap he must be! I knew he had a title, and
I'm just dying to meet him. Do you suppose he'll stay at our hotel? If he
does, I'll find somebody who knows all about him. Now I understand
why so many American girls marry titled Englishmen. If they're all as
nice as this one, I don't blame them, do you?"
"Hush, child, hush!" her mother reproved. "How can you run on so
about a total stranger?"
But the girl merely smiled softly to herself in answer, as she watched
Paul's straight back receding down the platform.
Overwhelmed with a rush of memories, Paul climbed into the carriage.
It was a fine afternoon, but he did not see the giant mountains rearing
their heads for him as proudly in the sunshine as ever they had held
them since the world was new.
For Paul just now was lost in the infinite stretches of the past, those
immeasurable fields through which the young wander blithely, all
unconscious of aught but the beautiful flowers so ruthlessly trampled
on, the luscious fruits so wantonly plucked, the limpid streams drunk
from so greedily, and the cool shades in which to sink into untroubled
sleep.
Ah! if there were no awakening! If one were always young!

The fiacre stopped; and soon Paul found himself in the hall of the hotel,
surrounded by officious porters. The maître d'hôtel himself, a
white-haired Swiss, pushed through them and greeted him, for was not
Sir Paul an old and distinguished guest, who never failed to honour him
with his patronage each year? Himself, he showed Paul to the same
suite he always occupied, and with zealous care conferred with milord
over the momentous question of dinner, a matter not to be lightly
discussed.
"And the wine? Ah! the Tokayi Imperial, of a certainty. Absolutely,
Monsieur, we refuse to serve it to anyone but yourself. Only last week
it was, when a waiter who would have set it before some rich
Americans--but that is over, he is here no longer."
Paul smiled indulgently at the solicitous little man. It was good to be
here again, talking with Monsieur Jacques as in the old days.
"One moment, more, Monsieur, before I go. Is it that Monsieur desires
the same arrangements to be made again this year--the visit to the little
village on the lake, the climb up the Bürgenstock, the pilgrimage to the
Swiss farmhouse? Yes? Assuredly, Monsieur, it shall be done, tout de
suite."
And then with a confident air as of complete and perfect understanding
on the part of an old and trusted friend, the bustling little maître d'hôtel
bowed himself out.
Paul proceeded, with his usual care, to dress for dinner, pausing first to
stand in the window of his dressing-room and gaze wistfully upon the
lake he loved so well, now dimming slowly in the Spring twilight.
The last time! Ah, well, so be it, then. There must come an end to all
things. And Paul turned away with a sigh, drawing the draperies gently
together, as if to shut out the memories of the past.
How well he succeeded, we shall soon know.
He was the last to enter the restaurant, which was well filled that

evening. On his way to his accustomed place he passed the table at
which sat Miss Daisy Livingstone, his American fellow-traveller,
dining with her mother; and another where the Comtesse, by courtesy,
sat toying with a pâté. To Paul's annoyance, he was greeted further
down the room by a member of his club; Graham Barclay was not a
particular favourite of his, at any time, and furthermore Paul had no
desire, just now, to be reminded of London. As civilly as he could, he
declined an invitation to join the party, pleading fatigue from his long
journey, and moved on to the end of the room, where his old waiter,
Henri, stood, with hand on chair-back, ready to help him to a seat.
"Deuced fine fellow, Verdayne," explained Barclay in parentheses to
his friends. "A bit abstracted sometimes, as you see. But he'll be all
right after tiffin. We'll gather him in for billiards later."
The eyes of more than one guest followed Paul as he walked the length
of the restaurant, for Verdayne possessed that peculiar quality--that
spiritual attraction--magnetism--(call it what you will, a few elect
mortals have it) that stamps a man indelibly. But of all those who
marked him